Scale These Walls
by worldinaleaf
Summary: Prompt: Trigger Warning: Abusive relationship; possible non-con. Blaine is stuck in an abusive relationship with a girl. Kurt finds out. Happy/at least somewhat resolved ending, please?
1. Chapter 1

The whistle of the coffee maker pulled Kurt out of his reverie and he winced, stumbling into the kitchen to pour himself a cup of liquid caffeine that would give him the strength to face the day. God, he had been so stupid to get drunk in the middle of the week – the loud office was going to be hell today, each slamming door sounding like a gun going off, and there were plenty of slamming doors at Vogue. People mistook being a fashion designer as instantly qualifying them for Diva status. After his coffee, he blearily ran though all his skin routines and checked his reflection in the mirror. No matter what he felt like, it wouldn't do anybody any good to go to work looking like a zombie, and it was even more important for him to look his best at Vogue. After two years of working his ass off, he'd finally managed to land a proper part-time job there, leaving his afternoons free to attend his classes at Parsons.

It had been a year since he'd dropped out of NYADA, finally realizing that he wasn't drawn to the stage as much as he'd been to the world of fashion. He'd got himself into Parsons and life was finally going the way he wanted – at least in the professional sense. He stared at his own reflection in the mirror for a while, sighing internally as he traced the hickey peeking slightly out from under his collar. He had told that guy he'd picked up at the bar last night that there should be no marks left, but that went unheard while they were ripping off each other's clothes. Kurt shrugged a little – at least he had been good in bed and had left in the morning without a fuss.

He left the house before Rachel could wake up and start pottering around. He loved his roommate to death, but there was only so much of her you could take before nine in the morning. It took him around half an hour to get to his office - the subway was crowded and he barely got out without having body parts mangled off.

It was random chaos when he entered the and the sight of Isabel actually yelling out instructions to her assistant in a harried fashion as she waved her arms around and gesticulated wildly was what put him on edge. His fairy godmother, as he still called her, was always gentle and calm and he rushed forward to help her with whatever was going wrong that was getting her all worked up.

"Isabel! Hey, what's going on? Need some help with something?" he asked, keeping his voice light and easy, trying to soothe her.

Isabel slumped into her chair with a sigh, shuffling papers around till she found a blue folder and passed it to Kurt. "It's Melissa Mackers. She's this upcoming model and a fright to work with – she sent in her schedule details at the last moment and we don't even have a minute to waste if we're going to get this done today. She's one of our newest models, and I've heard that she's kind of… hard to get along with if things go wrong. So we're trying our best not to let that happen. Except… Michael is ill today. The flu. He can't be here, so Kurt," she turned pleading eyes to him, "Could you please, please take care of this shoot today? Please? I've got to send some stuff to headquarters and I'm already in some hot water."

Kurt wanted to tell Isabel that he couldn't do it because he had early classes in the afternoon but seeing her slumped figure and tired face made him change his mind, though he had barely any idea about how to proceed. "No, it's fine. I'll take care of it, Isabel. You just get on with what you have to do, okay?"

He knew he'd chosen the right thing when she jumped out of her chair and wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug. "Thank you!" she said, beaming. "I'm going to put in a good word for your bonus component this quarter!"

Kurt smiled, glad that he'd pleased his boss, but also wishing that she would be able to sway his bonus a little. Money was a problem right now and he could do with some extra income.

Ignoring the last tendrils of a light headache, he walked into the production room, smiling at the cameramen and the production guys who were touching up the décor and setting up the lights and fans. He hoped that he wouldn't have much to do – Isabel's shoots were planned with great detail and he knew that he'd have to just give aesthetic views on things more than any input on production technique.

Melissa Mackers was a stunning woman, shorter than most models he'd seen, but her raven hair, deep blue eyes and delicate features made up for it. Besides, it was their job to help with the shots to make her look taller than she really was, and he had faith that Peter, their photographer, would be able to make it work. That man was a genius with his camera.

Half an hour later, Kurt was almost pulling out strands of his hair with his fingers, trying hard to keep his cool and not sass the woman standing in the middle of the forest glade set. She was critical of everything, questioning everything and though she was nice enough, she talked way too much. Kurt himself was a perfectionist in many ways, so he understood that she wanted the shoot and the pictures to be perfect. The only problem was that her ideas were fucking batshit crazy. The make up artist had to keep touching her up because she was constantly moving around, crinkling the clothes and changing her angle, making it harder for the people around her to accommodate to these changes.

Sighing, Kurt went into the break room to pour himself another cup of coffee and figure out in peace what the next shot was going to look like without being disturbed or questioned like he was kidnapping a fucking puppy and secretly sacrificing it in satanic rituals. He let out a happy moan as he took a sip of the hot, slightly bitter liquid, then followed it up with a swear as he banged into somebody, spilling the hot coffee on his perfectly shined shoes.

When he looked up to say something, a few choice words, maybe, his eyes were met with a pair of brown eyes with flecks of melting gold, slightly triangular eyebrows that would look weird normally but were adorable framing this pair of eyes and sinfully long lashes blinking up in surprise. He knew those eyes anywhere, would dream of them constantly, had watched them close in pleasure as he kissed the soft lips that he knew were situated somewhere in the vicinity. Only one name came to mind, the name that had built him up and broken him down, the name that he still called out sometimes in the throes of passion, the name he screamed out as he shivered out of nightmares, the name that signified the love of his life that he'd found amid struggle and lost amid success.

"Blaine?"


	2. Chapter 2

Kurt's mind was practically buzzing as Blaine got away from him in a hurry, nearly making him fall over as he rushed into the next room right toward the shoot. Kurt himself spent the next few moments staring at the yellow walls, stupefied, till a voice cut through his reverie. "Kurt? Shit, your shirt… let me get you a spare!" It was Malik, the props guy, and Kurt impatiently brushed the offer aside.

"I'm fine, Malik. Just… why is Blaine here?" He asked the question more to himself, a hundred myriad feelings flowing through him that he pushed away. He had plenty of time to poke at them later.

"Blaine Anderson?" Malik's brow furrowed. "Blaine's here because he's Miss. Mackers' assistant. He helps her draw up contracts and fetches her drinks and stuff – less 'assisting' and more of a 'go for' boy. Why, you need him for anything?"

Kurt didn't respond, just walking away toward the photo shoot only to stop abruptly again when he caught sight of Blaine talking to Miss. Mackers. He stared fixedly at the only boy who'd ever held his heart, taking a moment to just drink in his appearance before talking to him, before attempting to even approach Blaine. Hell, Kurt didn't even know if the words would make it through his throat and form coherent words anymore.

Blaine… Blaine looked the same and yet not quite the same. He was still small and compact, strong to look at, his biceps were a bit more… muscled, his hair still imprisoned in gel. He still wore pants that were rolled up at the bottom to expose his ankles and hadn't abandoned his idiosyncratic habit of wearing his watch on the right wrist.

But Kurt could pick out the subtle differences – he had known Blaine better than anybody else and he could make out the tensing of the shoulders that was a sure sign that Blaine was highly agitated. His skin was a little paler than before, not quite the bronze sheen, which made Kurt think that Blaine spent a lot of his time indoors. His lips were set in a tight line though he was trying to smile at his client at the moment, and Kurt wondered if his presence had actually tilted Blaine's axis a little. He felt a short jolt of pleasure at the thought that Blaine could be affected by his proximity.

When the shoot resumed again with a flurry of activity, Kurt gathered up the courage to walk toward Blaine without falling down to his knees and never getting up ever again. He leaned on the wall next to Blaine, nodding his head slightly. "Hey," he said softly, not looking up at Blaine's face. He thought that the sound of his thudding heart would surely be echoing around the room. "Blaine… it's good to see you. Here, in New York, I mean. The last time we spoke, you… you were going to California?"

Blaine's face gave nothing away as he turned to Kurt. "Yeah, it's been two years, Kurt. I'm working part time to help out with college tuition. Just a little job on the side." His breathing sped up a little, belying his calm exterior. "How are you doing? I see you're still at Vogue – I mean… that's a good thing."

Kurt nodded jerkily. "Yeah. I figured that I'd leave the Broadway stage and its dramatics to Rachel and just do what I do best. I'm at Parson's now, halfway through my second year."

Blaine smiled wanly, his eyes fixed on Melissa as he fidgeted with his hands, twisting his fingers a little. "Yeah, you've always loved Fashion so much. It suits you."

Kurt smiled a little, acknowledging the compliment. Before he could filter it out, he blurted, "Wouldn't have pegged you down for the model's assistant types – whatever works for you, though."

Blaine clenched his fists tight and Kurt couldn't help but wince as he thought about the hard nails digging into his soft palms. "Yeah, it pays well. Besides, we're dating."

Throwing his head back, Kurt's first reaction was to let out a short bark of laughter, sure that he had heard wrong. He was thrown off for a second, trying to fit that sentence in his head. Blaine definitely hadn't meant that he was dating Kurt, though that carelessly worded sentence left him yearning for something he couldn't really visualize. "Wait… must have missed something. You're dating who?" He looked around for the guy who could be Blaine's potential boyfriend.

"Melissa," Blaine said, voice flowing controlled and cool. "I'm dating Melissa."

"Excuse me?" Kurt croaked, but Blaine was off before he could say anything, heading to Melissa and pulling her into his arms, pressing a light kiss on her lips. Kurt stared, shocked, an empty feeling growing in the pit of his stomach. He wanted to talk to Blaine, wanted to shake him, ask him what was happening, but he couldn't, not if he didn't want to create a scene at the shoot. He turned away, trying to keep his raging emotions under control and get some semblance of civility. When he turned around five minutes later, the couple was gone.

Blaine sat quietly in the slightly warm car, waiting for the air conditioning to take effect and staring out of the window as Melissa touched up her makeup and combed out her hair again. "Blaine," she sing-songed, her voice grating at his nerves. "Blaine, Blaine, Blainey! I saw you eying that little Producer boy in there – any intentions?"

Blaine shivered a little, trying desperately not to curl in on himself as he kept his voice from shaking. "He… Kurt is just someone I went to high school with, Mels. I… I have nothing to do with him. We were just… talking."

Melissa huffed a little, turning around and grasping Blaine's chin in her hand and squeezing a little, smiling slyly. "Oh, Blainey. Kurt Hummel – the love of little orphan Blaine's life. I know all about him. I found your stupid little shrine to him, pictures and letters and a ring."

Blaine closed his eyes tight, pushing down his panic so that it wouldn't overtake his ability to stay level-headed just when he needed to. "It was in the past, Mels," he croaked softly. "It's over now. I swear."

Melissa studied his features, then let go of his face abruptly, straightening up and scrabbling in her purse. "It had better be, Blaine," she kept talking as she searched for something. "Poor little faggy Blaine, missed sucking his lover's cock. You're disgusting, you know. And more useless than anybody else I've seen in my life." She pulled out a small pill bottle and handed it to Blaine.

Blaine tried not to let his horror show as he took the pill bottle from her, pushing away the tears pricking his eyes as he shook one into his palm. Melissa's mocking voice pushed through his haze. "Take the pill, Blaine. Faggy Blainers has to take pills just to satisfy a woman in bed." She turned her back to him, looking outside the window. "You better be ready for me when we get home, love. Can't wait to have you in my arms again."


End file.
